


Shrouded

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Arguing, Cowgirl Position, F/M, Makeup Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 05:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16033544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Hancock had to admit, amusing as it was, the Silver Shroud persona was starting to be a liability.  But when he brings it up with Nora, she is quite displeased, and they argue over it.  How do they resolve their difference of opinion?





	Shrouded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



He couldn’t quite blame her.  Everyone had been talking amongst themselves about how… odd her obsession with the Silver Shroud persona was.  She’d been wearing the outfit almost every time she went out into the wastes, slipping into character and loudly announcing her presence while getting into firefights. 

So the gang all came together to decide that someone should speak to her about it.  And Hancock was elected to be the group spokesman, ‘because Nora and him were…’  The blatant problem of having a ghoul in a tricorner who nicked the name of a Founding Father lecture her about playing make-believe was lost on everyone except him, apparently.

Now, what they _should’ve_ done was approach her at home, all together.  Okay, the thought of him staging an intervention was only slightly more ridiculous, but putting it off until they were off doing something dangerous?  John Hancock was not a bright man, apparently.

He waited until they started down the road to some vault, then held off until they ended up camping out in an abandoned shack.  A squad of Gunners had apparently the same idea, and Nora started a firefight when she popped out of cover, telling the Gunners to “repent their wicked ways and abandon their pursuit of blood money”.

With most of the exterior wall splintered, pumped full of holes, and smoldering in places, and a squad of dead mercenaries on their front doorstep, Hancock had finally decided to put his foot down and tell Nora to can it with the Silver Shroud routine.  Because when she was running high on adrenaline and her pulse was pounding, that was the perfect time to give her friendly advice.

She reacted about as well as he expected.

“I can’t goddamn believe _you_ of all people would lecture me on this, John.” She growled, slapping some more bullets into her gun.

“Look, the whole superhero routine’s good for a laugh, but ya gotta admit, we could’ve handled it differently here.” Hancock said, pinching the bridge of what used to be his nose.  “The costume… you’re taking too many risks when you’ve got it on.”

“Right, _I_ should be the one worried about risky behaviors.  How many chems are you on right now?” She said, looking pissed as she headed upstairs.  He was getting pissed off because his habits _didn’t_ put him at risk—he was at least considerate enough to wait until he was back home, among friends to cut loose and go off on a bender.  He followed her, both bickering all the way as she double-checked the windows, making sure no other Gunners were left.

“C’mon, why do you gotta play dressup?” Hancock said.  “Me, I ain’t pretendin’ to be some long-dead old politician, I just stole the name and don’t deny that.  Hell, I _gave up_ my old name.  You?  You’re Nora in Diamond City, Nora in Sanctuary Hills, but anytime there’s some heads that need crackin’, you’re the Silver Shroud.  Why is that?”

He got eccentric leadership styles, he really, really did.  But there was something about the way she clung to being the Silver Shroud that bugged him.  She growled in annoyance and tried to step around him, only for Hancock to position himself directly in her way.  She looked up at him, royally pissed off.  “Move.”

He had no idea why he wasn’t trying to deescalate the situation.  Rather than try to calm her down, maybe offer her something to take the edge off, he crossed his arms and leaned forward slightly.  “Make me.”

She did.  She stepped forward, looking like she was going to move between him and the bed, and he moved to block her way.  Quickly she hooked a leg behind his and, grabbing the front of his coat, tugged him off balance.  He stumble against the footboard of the bed, and then she shoved him, sending him facedown on the bed.

He would’ve thought she’d storm off while he picked himself off.  Instead, as he rolled onto his back to sit up, Nora climbed atop him, pining his shoulders to the mattress.  “You are a real asshole, Hancock.”

“That’s part of the appeal, girl.” Hancock shot back.  He tried to sit up when she shoved him way back down.  He could probably buck her off, and then… argue and shove each other some more?  Continuing to yell at one another wasn’t going to accomplish anything.  He took a deep breath and shrugged.  “Fine, let’s table the discussion for now, okay?”

He maybe tried to sound more tired than he was, a little more haggard, while making eye contact.  He had a knack for driving her insane, but he also knew how to calm her down.  All a matter of realizing he had to be the bigger man.  She relaxed on top of him.  “Sorry for freaking out.”

“It’s fine.  You were wired, I was wired, wasn’t the best time for a debate.” Hancock agreed.  There was _something_ about why she took up the Shroud persona that needed some figuring out, but yeah, that could come later.  Preferably when he had an Irish cage fighter and a Super Mutant wall of muscle to hide behind. 

She shifted, planting a hand on his chest.  With her free hand she began to tug at the scarf around her neck.  He planted his feet against the metal footboard of the bed, and bucked his hips.  She went off balance as he tried to wrestle his way out from underneath her.  Nora stubbornly clung to one of his arms as he thrashed.

She pinned his wrist to the headboard and coiled the scarf around it, knotting it tightly enough to hold before rolling to the side, grabbing his other wrist.  Hancock’s struggle lessened, though he did try to avoid making it _too_ easy for her.  They had apparently gone from the yelling and arguing stage to the kissing and making up. 

Once she bound Hancock’s other wrist to the headboard, she got up, taking a few deep breaths, staring at him appraisingly, before her lips started to curve upwards michieveously. 

She pulled his coat and shirt open, dragging her hands against his rough skin, pressing down firmly against him.  He barely felt it until she digging her nails in _slightly_.  He tensed at the sensation, though it was from unpleasant.  She drummed her fingers against his abdomen, and cocked an eye at him.

The first few times they’d been together, she’d been… apprehensive.  And apologetic for being hesitant when caressing the radiation-scarred, pitted skin.  They’d been awkward, halting fucks, with her unsure of both whether it was safe for her to have him inside her, and also worried about whether she’d hurt him.  Eventually he’d had to tell her she’d have to get a little bit rougher; his skin wasn’t quite as sensitive as it had been when he was a human.  A firmer touch was appreciated.

She hadn’t been apprehensive about sex with him in a long, long time.  She traced a finger around his navel with her index finger, then leaned over, tugging his pants down to his knees.  His breath caught in his throat when she wrapped a hand around his cock and began to pump it.  He tensed underneath her as she slowly worked him over. 

He’d heard her talk about it one day.  A little confidential gossip between the gals, apparently.  Cait had questions and Curie had scientific inquiries about ghoul sex, and Nora had the answers.  She liked the texture of his skin, not smooth as a normal humans, but the skin was firm without being abrasive.  The feeling was interesting, is what she said. 

She removed her hand and climbed on top of him, before reaching under herself and gripping him again. She pressed her lips against his, while continuing to stroke him, hard and fast, until he was rock hard.  She slowed the movements of her hand when a needy growl escaped his throat, then leaned down and kissed him.  “Hm… you’re cute when you’re desperate, John.”

She laid next to him on the bed, continuing to hold on to his cock.  Her touch was light now, almost imperceptible.  It’d never push him over the edge.  But her laying right next to him, warm body against his, the ghosts of sensation against his cock, it was great to drive him crazy.

“I’m thinking you started this whole argument just to skip to the makeup sex.” She chuckled, giving him a squeeze.  He bucked his hips against her hand until she let go and pulled it away.  “C’mon, right?”

“Sure, whatever.” Hancock agreed.  In this state, Nora could get him to agree that he was a tapdancing brahmin if it would keep things moving. 

Nora rolled out of the bed and walked around to the footboard.  He craned his neck to watch her.  She undid the belt of the trench coat; then the buttons, one-by-one.  She let the coat hang open as she unbuttoned the shirt she had underneath, opening them both to expose her breasts.  He was too focused on that sight to notice her kick her boots off.

He did notice her put her thums in the waistband of her pants, and then she turned around; the black coat hiding everything from him.   His head hit the pillow as he heard the rustling of fabric and the sound of her belt buckle hitting the floor.  She stood there, gyrating behind her coat, until Hancock said her name.

The bed creaked as he spun around and climbed on top of him again, bare skin warm against his.  Her coat was draped over them both as he lined herself up with him.  He had a good view of her as she lined herself up, the warm, wet heat of her slit setting every nerve he had on edge when she brushed against his cock.

“Keeping the coat on?” Hancock asked, at a loss for anything better to say or do.  Tied to the headboard, underneath her, there wasn’t much for him to enjoy but enjoy the pace she set for them.

“You wanted me out of it.” She said with a smile.  She lowed the brim of her hat a little and slipped into that voice.  “And I don’t take kindly to commands.”

Maybe bursting out laughing wasn’t the right response.  But it was the one Hancock went with, right up until Nora pinched him.  Sighing, she shrugged the coat and shirt off of her shoulders took that hat off and set it off to the side.  “It sounded better in my head.”

He opened his mouth to respond when she dropped down, letting out a clipped his as she did so.  She was warm, wet, and tight against him.  After the initial drop, she _slowly_ lowered herself down, slightly wiggling her hips as she impaled herself to the base on his cock.  Once he was fully inside, she rocked forward and back before lifting herself up, and dropping down again. 

She found a fast rhythm as she bounced up and down on top of him, teeth clenched, head tilted back, eyes closed.  She let out little moaning noises as she rode him, bed creaking in time with her movements.  He braced his feet against the footboard again and began to buck in time with her, something she wasn’t planning for.  She gasped and pitched forward, thrown off her rhythm. 

That lasted only a split second as she kept fucking him, arms planted on his chest, nails digging into his rough skin.  He was panting, wasn’t going to last much longer.  Then again, he’d done this enough times to know that neither was she.

She muttered and whined, eventually no longer holding herself upright but laying on top of him, chest to chest, kissing and nipping at his neck and jawline while she rocked and he awkwardly shoved himself inside.  He thrashed against the headboard, trying to get his hands loose as she was slowing down; he wasn’t sure if she’d be done and leave him hanging.

He didn’t need to worry about that.

Their cries and yelps echoed in the tight confines of the room.

Panting atop him, Nora reached out and undid one of his wrists, before rolling off of him.  In between gasps for air, Nora muttered. “God, I needed that.”

“Glad to be of service.” Hancock muttered, using his now free hand to undo the knot around his other wrist.  That accomplished, he rolled onto his side, draping an arm around Nora’s waist and pulling him close to her.  She moaned agreeably when he kissed the back of her neck.  “We friends again, Nora.”

She chuckled at that.  “Yes, John, I think we are.  Sorry for losing my head earlier.”

Part of him wanted to press her about the Shroud costume.  That was the only thing he knew that he could talk about that would really set her off.  There were other things he’d imagined would do the same, things about the world before the war or her family, that he was wise enough to not bring up.

Why was the Silver Shroud persona such a hot-button issue for her?  Maybe it was just a way to link up to her past, a last pristine glance of the Pre-War world she could keep alive.  Maybe it had to do with guilt; she was tough enough to get to Goodneighbor fresh from a vault, but still had problems with violence—maybe being the Shroud was a way to keep Nora’s hands clean while someone else killed for her.

He was smart enough, her starting to doze in his arms, to not press the issue beyond just speculating silently to himself.  There would be plenty of time to bring this up later; because the Silver Shroud continued to be an issue that needed solving.

But for now, all he wanted to do was hold her until morning.


End file.
